Just Passing

39. New Year, New Me?

Because New Year's Day was a Wednesday, the first day back from break is a Thursday. I am Facebook friends with people who are teachers in districts that don't start back until Monday the 6th. But, I don't mind this earlier start. Sure, an extra long break would be nice. But who doesn't love a two-day work week? I'd rather have this short start than being hit by a full week of work right after the holidays. It's a nice way to ease into 2020.

So, that's what I focus on as I pull into the parking lot on this cold January morning. I just need to get through the next two days and then it is the weekend again. I pour all my energy into hoping for a completely uneventful, boring day.

I get out of my car, grab my bag, and walk towards the building. Before using my keycard to enter, I take a deep calming breath, and let it slowly out, creating a small cloud of anxiety that dissipates into the frigid air. I walk down the hallway, take my usual route to my office, and I pass the custodian. "Happy New Year!" I smile and give a small wave.

He barely glances up in acknowledgement. Strange.

When I get to my office, I place my coffee on my desk and plop into my chair. I'm sure he was just busy. The custodians have a lot of extra work to do in the winter, having to salt the entrance ways and make sure the playground and blacktop are safe to play on. It's not worth thinking twice about.

Jessica arrives a few minutes after me and I ask about her break. Immediately, her face breaks into a genuine smile. She tells me that her boys had a good Christmas and that for the first time in several years, they didn't travel anywhere. No one visited them either, which meant less stress about cleaning and catering to guests. She only wishes that the break had lasted longer. "It seems so fake to just be here for two days!" she complains.

After a few more minutes of chatting, we both turn our attention to our respective computer screens and focus on getting ready for the day. I don't have any interesting emails. No surprises. The new year is off to an uneventful start and my nerves calm.

But, later that morning, as I greet students coming in from the buses, two girls keep giggling and looking in my direction. When I raise an eyebrow at them, they turn beat red and skitter down the hall.

Then just before lunch, as I turn the corner, two colleagues who were having an intense whisper conversation suddenly go quiet. They smile at me as I pass, but only in a polite-sterile way.

I rethink the custodian's cold welcome. Is everyone at work–except Jessica, of course–treating me weird? Or am I reading into things that aren't really there?

Does everyone on staff know?

How about the students?

Did Steve tell everyone? Maybe I should follow-up with Ms. Reid. But what would I even say? People are looking at me in a way that makes me think Steve might have told them I am transgender? That would sound paranoid.

So, instead of running to the principal, I decide to wade through some more computer work. I'm hiding in my office, alone, skimming and re-skimming the same dataset when a name floats into my mind: George.

I haven't thought about him in well over a decade.

George was a guy who I knew back in grad school. Just some nondescript dude in the same program as me who was always talking about lacrosse. A random classmate. That is, until one hot day he was wearing shorts and I noticed the tattoo on his left calf. It was a thick black circle with three lines sticking off of it: one a crossed line, one an arrow, and one a crossed-arrow. A transgender symbol.

I could now see him through a new lens. I noticed details about his presentation that I'd overlooked before. The way he only had a small tuft of beard on his chin, but the rest of his face seemed baby-smooth. How he was about an inch or two shorter than I am. And that for a guy who talked about sports so much, his shoulders were rather narrow.